tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Art was suspicious right off the bat when Raylan took a week off with the express note that his phone would be Out Of Order til the next Monday, but the Chief Marshal wasn't going to look gift horses in the mouth. Not when it suggested he'd have a few days of peace, until Raylan caved to turning his phone back on again. Still, he watched the younger Marshal walk out of the office and promised himself to check into the state of Harlan within 3 days to make sure that the place wasn't on fire. The smoke would reach him before he called, he was sure.

But Art didn't have much to worry about - Raylan had no plans on staying in the state for his vacation, beyond one day spent closing up Arlo's and securing it the best way he could before getting on a plane to New York City. He wanted to surprise Malcolm - it'd been near two months since they'd last seen each other and frankly, Raylan was tired of missing him. They'd called and texted, stayed in a fairly consistent, if odd houred, touch but it wasn't the same.

Once he landed, Raylan rented a car and navigated his way towards Malcolm's apartment, stopping to grab a bouquet of flowers. It was.. Extra, but Raylan didn't want to show up empty handed, just in case. Thirty minutes later, Malcolm's door buzzer was being hit, like Raylan was here to deliver something. Well, he was, but that was half the fun.

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"No, they're authentic." He walked up and pulled his axe out of the board. "Not replicas. I said not replicas." He looked at the cases as he stepped back beside Raylan. "I haven't broken the cases." He gestured towards the window behind them with his axe. "But I did go through that window in my sleep. Glass breaks sometimes. It can be replaced." He gestured towards the board. "Go ahead and throw!" he said with a grin.

"Ah," Raylan sounded, but the answer wasn't as helpful as he would have liked. He kept a soft tilt of a frown on his lips despite himself. He didn't like the idea of possibly breaking something that was from the 1300's. At all.

"If you're sure," he finally decided with a little shake of his head as he stepped into place, hefting the axe again to get the blade in the right direction before throwing it in a smooth move, thunking it into the target.

Someone had been practicing, if his form was any indication.

Malcolm grinned broadly, looking at Raylan with barely contained glee.

"You've been practicing," he noted happily. "With the big axe, I'd guess."

Raylan rolled his shoulder in response, smile threatening to curl his features. "May have been. That poor tree is about short a limb because of it too." He couldn't let Malcolm show him up so badly again. Raylan highly doubted he'd be winning any contests with it, silver or otherwise, but he didn't want to look like a fool.

Sue him for wanting to impress his would be boyfriend.

"The bigger axe is heavier. Thought it might help with muscle memory."

"Practiced the limb right off the tree." He looked over coyly. "Missed me that much or just that competitive?" he teased.

Raylan gave him a coy look from the side of his eyes as he walked over to pull their axes down and amble back, handing Malcolm's to him. "Maybe a little bit of both. Couldn't let you show me up after two months of practice now."

"Besides," he continued as he got out of the way. "You were right. Good for letting off some... mounting frustrations."

"Right?" Malcolm confirmed, expression suggesting he knew exactly what Raylan meant as he hefted the axe again for a moment, then gave it a good, hard throw.

Dead centre.

"After this throw, let's move back," he suggested.

Raylan nodded at the suggestion and stepped up, getting and throwing like he had before. The axe landed on the left side of the target with room to spare.

With a hand free, Raylan finished the unbuttoning that Malcolm had started and pulled his overshirt from his jeans.

"I'm almost afraid to ask how far back you can hit it period." See previous concerns about the safety of Malcolm's weapon rack.

Malcolm got a light in his eyes, backing up.... and up.... and up. "How far I can go and hit it at all?" Challenge accepted, if slightly distracted by Raylan taking off his button-down.

He backed up almost to the end of the kitchen island, hefted the axe, then gave it a good, hard throw, stepping into it and following through across his body. It hit about four inches below centre. He looked at Raylan in triumph.

Raylan's eyebrows lifted, one hand finding his waist as he paused the stripping to watch. As Malcolm threw, Raylan instinctually leaned back, head snapping as it followed the axes trail. He looked back at Malcolm, face still lifted in surprise.

"Hot damn. I.. will not be trying that just yet," he admitted, stepping out to about half of what Malcolm had, mostly equal distance between the profiler and the starting line. "Mainly because I don't wanna have to replace anything."

Malcolm could huff a dismissive sigh at money; Raylan could not. Pulling the axe up over his shoulder, Raylan threw again, maintaining his form from before while putting as much power into it as he could. He was rewarded with a near center hit, handle askew in angles. He looked back over his shoulder with a grin as he turned around, unbuttoning his cuffs before shrugging his shirt off.

"Not too bad, I'd say." He was proud of himself.

"Not bad at all," Malcolm agreed. "The throw was pretty good too," he teased, backing up some more with his other axe still in hand.

"How far do I dare to try...." he said, stopping even with the front door. He tossed the axe up end over end and caught it, then hefted it a couple times.

"This is going to be risky," he acknowledged. "I've never tried it from here."

He raised it, heaving it as hard as he could, stumbling forward a couple steps with the follow through. It hit the stone of the fireplace just below the board with a loud clang and bounced off, skittering across the wood floor loudly.

He laughed with delight.

"Well, that was too far," he concluded.

Raylan's eyes followed Malcolm and his sexy axe flipping - he could admit that to himself, even if it still felt strange to acknowledge.

"I feel like you and risk are deeply acquainted," he quips with a smirk as he moved to stand out of the way, glancing away only to drape his shirt over the counter, folding his arms over his chest. Despite his lean, being a sports kinda man, he couldn't help but stand up as Malcolm threw, wincing with a pull of his shoulder as the axe hit and clattered, laughing with him.

"Its good to know your limits but I think I might be a terrible influence."

Malcolm looked over.

"I think you might be a great influence. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

He walked across the room to pick up the axe from the floor, then to retrieve the others from the board. He held one up, the other two clutched in his other hand. "Want to throw another?" he said, holding it out, handle first, as he approached. "I hit stone with this thing and it didn't break," he pointed out.

"Mmhmm," was Raylan's answer under an amused lift of his brows, smiling as he came to meet Malcolm halfway, collecting the axe in one hand. "I can tell."

He glanced at the axe before turning around and ambling back towards his throwing point.

"I am amazed. How do you think they made 'em this strong? Can't get shit to last these days."

"That's craftsmanship. Nothing was mass produced."

He took one of the other two from the hand holding them both and swung it around.

"The only weapons in my collection that are frail are fragile because the materials have come to end of life. The metal is too corroded or too thin now, for example." He glanced over at the fireplace, then peered at it more closely. "Actually, I think I chipped the stone a little." He made a little wince. "Don't tell my landlord at dinner tonight."

"Wonder how long it took to take," he muttered to himself. He knew how rewarding working with your hands could be, he had to wonder if they felt the same way.

He looked back up at Malcolm with a curl of his smile. "Afraid she's going to make you sell your toys or that she's going to remodel the whole place to 'fix' it for ya?"

"I don't know; I just know I don't want to listen to it," he said.

Raylan had heard her chide him for plenty of nothing and Malcolm was pretty sure he didn't want to listen to it either.

Malcolm realized his gaze was lingering on Raylan and took a breath.

"Those shirts," he said, gesturing towards Raylan's undershirt with his axe. "You have a lot of them, huh?"

"I don't blame ya," he confessed, sympathetically, even though the smile on his face didn't lessen. He wasn't going to bring it up. For both their sakes. Raylan wouldn't have called it staring, but he didn't mind the attention, and glanced down at the mention of his undershirt.

"And you don't," he replied looking back up with a pinch in his face. "With all those suits you wear, I'd have thought an undershirt was demanded, by fashion if not function. Why is that?"

"No... not if you buy the right type of shirts," he noted. "You probably don't need them under flannel. You just use them for layering, right?" So he could take off the bulkier clothing if it got too warm. "You... live in hotter weather than I do."

"There's a wrong type of shirt?" Innocent man didn't quite understand.

"You know I have shirts that aren't flannel or plaid print, right?" His hand came out to gesture with the teasing question as he ambled a few steps closer. "But you're right on it being about the weather. Cold in the mornings, hot in the afternoon and stickily mild in the evenings. Nights get colder than you'd think and you can't run a heater on a stake-out."

He pointed. "Better than t-shirts too, lets the shoulders breath. Yours could do with a breath or two."

"They breathe, huh?" He smiled a little. "What's that feel like?"

Raylan's smile spread as he turned around and strode back towards the bedroom, tossing the axe onto the bed before turning to the dresser, bending down and pulling one of his spares out. When he turned back, he tossed it at Malcolm with a little lift of his chin.

"Why don't you tell me?"

Malcolm looked at the shirt suspiciously, but then set his axes down on the counter, then put the undershirt next to them while he pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Then he pulled the undershirt on. Smoothing it down with his hands, he considered it.

"It feels a lot like not wearing anything," he noted.

Making the stop to pick up the axe he abandoned, Raylan watched Malcolm change as he ambled back. His smile broke into a grin as Malcolm evaluated the fit.

"Doesn't feel too bad getting stripped off either," he promised. "Experience," he said, squinting one eye playfully. "You remember the heat out there and you didn't even come in summer. We try to avoid sunburns, heat stroke and the skin cancer that follows.

Try throwin' in it."

"More skin exposure is not more skin protection," Malcolm said, picking up his axe. "Though I can't argue with how it feels stripping it off," he teased back.

Throw in it.

Okay.

He stepped up to the point he last threw successfully and threw it hard, following through. He looked up to see it land in the centre. He turned and grinned at Raylan. "It's pretty freeing, though." He glanced down. "It's stretchy."

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